Shoot

by Kieran Crowley

  Magic.

  But I knew there was no such thing as magic. Only preparation and misdirection. How far in advance did this magician prepare his illusion? Long enough to plan a hack of the hotel video security system. Who—or what— was it the cameras couldn’t see? The Tea Party Animal magicians obviously knew about the smoke detectors being disconnected. Somehow, he—or they—was able to get past security and into five rooms. Who let them in, never reached for their hardware and were wasted before they could say “What the fuck?” A close colleague? Tiffany? Karl? A cop or security guard? Perhaps the dead congressmen didn’t go for their weapons because they were reaching for their rods, opening their doors to an attractive woman.

  How did they get a murder weapon or five murder weapons out of the security ring at the convention center? Everything was searched and logged on the way out and in. Either they smuggled it out or they didn’t. So, it’s gone or it’s still there. Where? Only one possible spot. Or six. Maybe. Worth a shot.

  “Siri, where’s the closest hardware store?”

  She told me there was one on Ninth Avenue.

  “Thanks, Siri.”

  “My pleasure, Shepherd.”

  * * *

  The store clerk said there was probably a customized industry item for what I wanted but they didn’t carry it. He hooked me up with a ratchet screwdriver, called an Easy-Driver, and a few attachments that might do the job, along with some gallon-sized plastic sandwich bags. I paid with the newspaper’s credit card, stashed everything in my new backpack and continued on my way.

  The security was diminished at the Knickerbocker Convention Center after the departure of the political circus. A car show was setting up. I went upstairs on the escalator, caught an elevator and ran into NYPD officers outside one of the crime scenes. I told them who I was and that they could call Izzy for approval. In five minutes, my buddy Sergeant Reed arrived. She asked what I was doing and I told her. She called Izzy and told me it was okay but she would go with me and I had to wear gloves at all times.

  “No problem, Sarge.”

  Before we could enter the suite I had chosen, one of the young hotel workers from that night, Bryce, showed up with a clipboard and demanded to know when the six suites would finally be released for rental.

  “Tonight’s the last night,” Sergeant Reed told her.

  “Great, terrific,” Bryce exulted, shaking the sergeant’s hand and then mine. “My boss will be very happy.”

  When I squeezed her hand back, she visibly winced.

  “Sorry,” I said. “You okay?”

  “I’ll live. I hurt my hand the other day. Slammed it in a drawer.”

  “Ouch,” I said, looking closer.

  She displayed her open palm. The heel of her right hand was bruised and there was a dark red U-shaped mark.

  “You should ice that,” I told her.

  “I will, thanks,” she said, flashing a smile.

  She thanked us again, wrote something on her clipboard with her left hand and took off.

  “You going to flirt with the staff or check out the room?” Reed asked.

  “Can’t I do both?”

  The sergeant put on blue surgical gloves, I put my gun gloves on, and we entered Senator Carroll’s former suite. I walked back into the hallway and asked Reed to shut the door and yell loudly, then reopen the door.

  “Okay.”

  She shut the door. I heard nothing. I walked up to the door and put my ear to it. No sound. She opened the door.

  “I couldn’t hear a thing,” I told her.

  “I yelled,” she said.

  “They’re all the same,” I concluded. “Soundproof.”

  “I guess they spared no expense. Good thing for a bridal suite,” she said with a chuckle.

  “You got that right.”

  I went all around the room, looking at the curtains, the windows, touching the lamps and paintings, looking in empty drawers. I peered at the smoke alarm in the ceiling. After a while, I took off my gloves and told her I was done. As she moved to the door, I asked her if I could use the bathroom. I told her I really had to go. She hesitated.

  “You want to come in with me?” I asked.

  “Hurry up,” she said. “And put your gloves back on.”

  67

  I put my gloves back on, shut and locked the bathroom door from the inside and quickly went to work. I pulled out the ratchet screwdriver from my bag and found the closest diameter attachment to fit the octagonal hole in the metal nipple in the top of the toilet tank. The metal moved and I felt something unlock. I carefully lifted top off and looked inside the water tank.

  Damn. Nothing, just the usual pipes and copper plumbing.

  Wait.

  One of the vertical pipes on the left inside wall looked out of place and didn’t seem to be connected to anything.

  Yes!

  Preparation and misdirection. But what the hell was it? It was an octagonal gray plastic tube about an inch and a half in diameter and maybe nine inches long. It was held in place by two metal brackets protruding from the inside wall of the tank. The top of the pipe was tightly sealed with taut metallic foil. A pipe bomb? I peered at it from every angle but I didn’t see any exposed wires that might blow me up. I carefully touched the cylinder with both gloved hands, got a grip and gently pulled. It came free. The other end of the pipe had an octagonal cap, covered by a thin rubber pad. The tube was textured and featureless, except for one side, closer to the padded end, where there was a thin, raised rectangular box with some kind of hinge, like it could flip open. What the hell was it? Maybe it was a bomb after all. Jesus, I think it might be a…

  The door banged three times.

  “Yo, Shepherd! You fall in?” Sergeant Reed shouted, pounding on the door some more. “Let’s go!”

  Damn.

  “No! Sorry, Sarge, be right out.”

  No time. I quickly put my mystery find in one of my large sandwich bags and dropped it into my knapsack. I flushed the toilet to cover up the noise of replacing the tank top. When I emerged, Reed was waiting by the door. She locked the suite and nodded to the cop on duty outside. In the hall, as we walked to the elevator, I hesitated over what to do.

  “Did you say you guys are closing down these crime scenes tonight?” I asked.

  “Yup. Finally, we’ll be out of here,” she said.

  It looked like I had no choice. I almost cursed out loud when I remembered that I did not re-lock the top of the toilet tank. There was no way I could ask to go back to that bathroom now.

  “Look, sorry, but I just realized I also have to check out Chesterfield’s suite before I go.”

  She grumbled but took me there. I did my Sherlock Holmes act again as the sergeant watched, clearly bored. I was stuck. I opened the bathroom door and looked inside. I dialed Izzy on my cell.

  “Hey, Izzy. Listen, I’ve got a… Yeah, I’m there now… in Chesterfield’s suite. Right. Yes, she’s here with me now. Wait…”

  “Just the guy I want to talk to,” Izzy told me. “Where were you earlier this morning?”

  Uh oh.

  “I was at the Roehm Building. I also went to the Apple store, did some shopping and then walked to the convention center.”

  “So you weren’t in Central Park busting up the same guys you knocked around last week, you know, that mutt Jay-Jay Potsoli and his pals?”

  “What? Why? Do they say that?”

  “No. They claim they were doing a kickboxing workout that got out of hand but I don’t believe that and neither do the witnesses, who said they got their asses handed to them by a ninja.”

  “Oh. Everybody okay?”

  “You worried about them? They’ll live, although one of the idiots got such a bad concussion he’s still in the hospital. What was it you wanted?”

  “What did I want? Oh yeah. Did you guys take off the tops of the toilet tanks at the crime scenes here?”

  There was a long pause.

  “Not sure,” he answered.
“Not like we were looking for anything that might fit in there. It’s not a drug investigation. Weren’t they locked with some kind of doohickey? So, no, I don’t think we did but the feds took over pretty fast. They probably did it. Why?”

  I suggested he might want to come over and check— before the scenes were released.

  “I’m not going over there to stick my head in a toilet for a reporter’s hunch.”

  “What if Sergeant Reed took a quick look—just to be sure?”

  Izzy cursed and I could hear him talking to Phil.

  “What are you up to?” Izzy demanded.

  “Nothing,” I lied. “I just thought you should be the one to discover the murder weapons—if there are any to be found. Hey, you never know.”

  There was more discussion.

  “Phil says he thinks you’re running a number on us, for some reason. Okay, we’ll be there soon. But if we don’t find anything, Shepherd, you are going bowl surfing.”

  They made good time. Izzy stormed in, saw I was wearing my gloves, and ordered me to lift off the top. I made a gallant effort but, of course, it was locked. I shrugged helplessly and suggested calling the hotel maintenance staff.

  “They’ve probably got the doohickey to open it.”

  “No,” Izzy said. “Let’s keep this quiet—either way.”

  He asked Sergeant Reed for help. She pulled out a steel multi-tool and had it open in thirty seconds. She and I lifted the porcelain off and onto the toilet seat. I could smell gunpowder as soon as we took it off.

  “So?” Izzy demanded, peering inside.

  “What the hell is that?” Phil asked, pointing to another gray plastic tube clipped vertically to the inside of the tank, identical to the one I had found. But on this tube, the foil at the top was missing. The ugly gray pipe was empty, charred black around the muzzle, which stank of black powder.

  “Yeah,” I said, peering over their shoulders. “What the hell is that?”

  They looked at me. Hard. I looked back with sincerity. I think.

  “Crap. Preserve this for prints and get Crime Scene over here now; pictures, the whole nine yards,” Izzy ordered Reed.

  She got on her radio. I asked again what it might be.

  “You know what it is,” Izzy told me. “It’s some kind of tube gun. The Tea Party Animal blasted Percy and then hid this popgun in here. It’s probably some kind of one-shot zip gun—while we’ve been beating the bushes, hunting for a motherfucking musket.”

  “I think you’re right, Izzy. This might be a big break in the case for you. Hey, leave me out of it. You think the other toilets might have these, too?”

  “Maybe, if they’re single shot. But, if they can be reloaded, this could be the only one.” Izzy grinned. “Shepherd, I don’t fucking know whether to kiss you or kick you in the nuts.”

  “Do I get a vote?”

  68

  Izzy and Phil found four more octagonal plastic tubes secreted in the other victims’ commodes. I didn’t ask anyone if they had thought of looking inside Senator Carroll’s potty. Izzy thanked me with a manly handshake and a pat on the back, then asked me nicely to leave.

  “Again, you’re welcome,” I said.

  “A lot more cops are on the way, including, literally, a busload of feds. Best you make yourself scarce.”

  “I get it. No problem. But I have to file this.”

  They looked at each other.

  “I owe you that much,” Izzy said, “but give us a few hours before you do and don’t quote me by name, okay, buddy?”

  “You got it. I just need a non-attributed quote about finding the murder weapons.”

  “Uh… how about… ‘Pending ballistics testing, we suspect these are the murder weapons. The, uh, nature of the custom assassination devices, and other factors, points to very sophisticated killers with access to large amounts of money and technology.’”

  “Excellent. You’re getting good at this.”

  I wanted to tell them everything but I was in a bind. If I admitted I had stolen evidence, he might still send me bowl surfing. I left. On the way out, in the hall, Sergeant Reed was giving me the stink-eye, like maybe she regretted not accompanying me into the john. I gave her a friendly wave and took off. It didn’t matter, I told myself. Finders, keepers. I had removed crucial evidence but, if Reed went looking, there was nothing to incriminate me.

  Except the metal clips affixed to the inside of the toilet tank wall—identical to the others. Oops. Okay, if they find them, it could mean the bad guys had planned to bump off the senator but, for some reason, they did not. Ergo, no empty plastic blunderbuss. But what if the presence of the gray tube actually meant that the senator was a part of the plot and had one put there to deflect suspicion? Why did I take the unfired weapon? Ego? Maybe, but I needed to get a closer look. And I might have a use for it.

  In the lobby, I found Bryce at the concierge desk, on her cellphone. She got off as I approached.

  “Yessir, Mr. Shepherd, how may I help you?”

  “Get a chance to ice your hand?” I asked.

  “Not yet. Kinda busy. Thanks for asking.”

  I noticed for the first time that her voice was somewhat musical, her eyes sparkling.

  “You know who I am?” I asked, surprised.

  “Of course. I’ve been reading your stories online. They’re great.”

  “Okay, cool. I just have a few quick questions for you, Bryce…?”

  “Bryce Martha Draper.”

  “Bryce Martha Draper, what a lovely name.”

  “Thank you. What questions?”

  “Well, are you married?”

  She laughed. “No.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  “With this job and school? I’m working on my masters. Not at the moment, no.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-three. What does this have to do with the murders?”

  “Nothing,” I confessed, giving her my best you-caught-me smile. “Look, I really want to take you to dinner tonight and pick your brain for some background for my stories— strictly off the record. How about eight at L’Éveil?”

  “Wow. Probably the most expensive French restaurant in town,” she noted. “That’s the place that slow-cooks for a week and does all kinds of weird scientific things to food, right? You must have some expense account.”

  “Yeah, unlimited. Please say yes, Bryce. I think you’re a very interesting person. To be honest, I suddenly can’t stop thinking about you. I hope that doesn’t creep you out?”

  “No, it doesn’t, actually,” she said, rewarding me with a big-eyed look. “I think you’re interesting, too, and I also want to pick your brain about the case. I just heard the cops are back in lockdown indefinitely and we won’t get our suites back tonight. They won’t tell me what’s happening. Did you find something new up there?”

  I gave her a sly smile. “I promise to tell all at dinner— before I put it in the paper. Please say yes, Bryce.”

  “Okay, Shepherd. It’s a date. Do you know what ‘L’Éveil’ means in French?”

  “No,” I lied. “Evil?”

  “No.” She leaned slowly over her counter, giving me a better view of her cleavage and a sweet whiff of something floral, to whisper in my reddening ear.

  “Arousal.”

  Oh, man. I retreated before she could wipe the floor with me.

  69

  It was three when I got outside. I called Amy and told her I was stopping by.

  “Now is not good, Shepherd. I have to sell crack to a movie star in thirty minutes.”

  “Is it an emergency?”

  “Yes. No, it’s a case. Undercover sting, insurance job.”

  “What movie star?”

  “I can’t tell you on the phone.”

  “Reschedule it, please. I just got out of the convention center. I’ll be right over. Oh, and make sure no one else is in the house.”

  “What? I told you…”

  “Amy, I’ll be right ov
er. Be there.”

  “Okay, okay. Bye.”

  When I got to Amy’s townhouse, I told her what really happened in the park and produced my surprise in the plastic bag.

  “This better be important, Shepherd. A ten-million-dollar performance bond is on the line. What the hell is that?” she asked, staring at the tube.

  “That,” I replied, “is a musket without the flintlock.”

  “What? It looks like a pipe bomb.”

  “I know but it’s one of at least six identical weapons secreted inside the locked toilets of the rooms of the Tea Party Animal assassination victims.”

  “You’re shitting me?” she said, moving closer, peering at the gray cylinder.

  “I shit you not. I found this one inside Senator Carroll’s throne. It hasn’t been fired. The others, in the victims’ rooms, had been used. Izzy said they look like single-shot zip guns.”

  “I’ll be damned.”

  I put on my gloves and Amy donned surgical gloves. I opened the bag and gently placed the firearm on top of it. I used my phone to take still pictures from every angle, then carefully flipped it over and did the same on that side. Then I did video, as Amy held the tube and displayed all aspects.

  “This is different from a zip gun,” Amy said. “They use rubber bands and a nail to hit a center-fire cartridge that you load into the back of the pipe. This thing is sealed at both ends.”

  “Yeah. But I think the round fires through that foil on the top. That thin box on one side, closer to the padded bottom than the top, has a hinge.”